


Bad Timing

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Autofellatio, Ball Sucking, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, I’m just gonna go for it, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, oops I almost forgot about the
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When surprise visits don’t cut it anymore, something has to give. But it’s hard to plan for the future when Felix and Sylvain can’t keep their hands (and mouths) off of each other long enough to talk.A loose sequel toIt’s About Time, but it’s PWP, so it stands alone just fine.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 126





	Bad Timing

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: the triumphant return of scrotum enthusiast sylvain jose gautier
> 
> this fic goes a lot of ways, so double check those tags

After the war, Felix and Sylvain find time.

There’s still just as much to do—more now, really, and most of it must be done apart—but it’s easier to make time without death’s scythe hanging a hair’s breadth from their necks.

A quipped announcement steals Felix from his duties. “Margrave Gautier to see you, your grace.” 

The page disappears before Felix can thank her, before Sylvain can even enter the study. Felix chuckles to himself. Perhaps he and the Margrave have a reputation. 

“Sylvain.” Felix rises from his chair the moment Sylvain’s familiar stride breaks the silence, and he turns to greet his favorite visitor with a smile. It’s only been two weeks, and only three more since Felix visited him, but nothing feels right unless they’re together. “What could possibly be so urgent that you needed to visit again?”

“Come on, Felix. Aren’t you happy to see me?” Sylvain doesn’t pout when he says it, just props himself in the doorway and smiles, cocky. With all this extra riding he’s been doing, his thighs back up his bravado. They’re huge in his painted-on breeches, nigh indistinguishable from his skin tone (only lacking the hair and freckles Felix loves so much). Sylvain must have had them made just for these visits. Sometimes Felix misses the armor, but when Sylvain shifts his weight and his leg muscles pop out and pull in his legs, Felix feels that “war is over” gratitude all over again.

Felix is very happy to see him, and from the growing outline of Sylvain’s cock in the second skin he’s calling pants, Sylvain’s just as excited. 

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Sylvain goes on, stepping into the room. “And I don’t suppose I might steal you from your duties a moment to show you?”

That voice, that confident stride—it’s definitely something sexual. Felix suppresses a shiver of anticipation (two weeks is a long time without Sylvain) and cocks his hips to one side. “And I suppose you’ll be leaving once you’ve had your way with me?”

Sylvain is at his side in an instant, running the back of his hand down Felix’s cheek. “I thought I’d stay a few days—if you can make room for me, that is.”

It’s a funny thing to ask for someone who’s lived in Felix’s heart since they were kids. Felix doesn’t have to make room; it’s when Sylvain  _ isn’t _ there that Felix has to adjust. One day, when their territories are under better control, he’s going to do something about that, but right now he’s going to attempt to get Sylvain out of those ridiculous breeches. “It’ll be tough, but for you, I’ll do it.”

“You’re so good to me,” says Sylvain (even though it’s really the other way around). “Let me show you how good  _ I _ can be.”

And just like that, they’re kissing like Sylvain never left, like he begins where Felix ends. Somehow the door gets closed, because they do have an image to maintain (even if Sylvain gets loud enough to be heard all the way back in Gautier), and then the clothes start coming off. 

Felix misses his armor sometimes, but not when Sylvain is undressing him. His shirt, loose and flowing, slips right over his head and to the floor. A trail of feathery kisses carries Sylvain to Felix’s waist, then his breeches (nowhere near as tight as Sylvain’s) flutter to the floor.

From his knees, Sylvain looks up at Felix, eyes full of wonder as if they haven’t seen each other in every possible state of undress. Like a prayer, Sylvain reaches up with open palms, presses them to Felix’s chest to cup his muscles. He’s silent, for once. Reverent. Felix still hears him:  _ I missed you. I love you. You’re perfect.  _ There’s no need to protest when Sylvain speaks with his hands, runs them down Felix’s sides. It should tickle, the way his fingers dance over skin, but Felix just lets his breath come as it will. Those fingers settle at the drawstring of his linens, dipping beneath but venturing no lower, and Sylvain snares him in a potent gaze. Felix may be the one standing, but Sylvain holds all the power this time. It makes Felix’s cock pulse. He’ll get his turn later; all he has to do now is follow where Sylvain leads. 

Sylvain’s eyes fall closed as he presses his mouth, open and wet, to Felix’s clothed length. It’s warm—a taste of what’s to come—but not enough. Felix tells him with a hand in his hair, pulling gently at the amber strands that fill his every dream. All it gets Felix is a hot chuckle and more kisses through cloth. 

Fine. If it’s going to be like that, Felix can play. He’ll make Sylvain work for it. As Sylvain starts to rock up and down, Felix thinks of his sword forms to distract himself from the feel of fabric shifting over his still-hardening dick. Eyes closed and hand still woven in Sylvain’s hair, he’s halfway through a kata when Sylvain finally loosens his undergarments. Teeth graze Felix’s hip. His eyes snap open to watch Sylvain undress him with his mouth. 

A mumbled  _ Sylvain  _ escapes Felix’s lips, and he can’t even picture a sword as he prepares himself for Sylvain’s mouth to close around his—

—testicles?! Felix nearly jumps when Sylvain dodges Felix’s cock entirely to mouth at his balls. He kisses them first, sloppily, sucking at the skin between them, and Felix remembers: Sylvain’s been wanting to do this for a while. It’s not exactly graceful, Sylvain crouched on the floor with his neck at a weird angle, lapping and licking like Felix might melt if he doesn’t hurry, but it is sort of sexy. It even feels pretty good. 

Then, Sylvain takes one in his mouth, gives it a tentative suck. Not hard. It feels strange, but Sylvain seems to be enjoying himself. He runs the flat of his tongue over Felix’s skin, teeth perfectly nestled around it so as not to hurt him. With a smack, Sylvain pops off the one side and finally touches Felix’s cock, only to push it up, toward the ceiling, flush with Felix’s body. It pulls Felix’s balls up, too, and Sylvain sucks at the other one. He bobs on it like he’s giving head, and the outline of his cock in his riding pants is ridiculous—Felix can see veins, make out the distinct shape of the head, and there’s a dark spot at the top because Sylvain is getting off on this. 

That does make it hotter. 

So even though Sylvain’s unmoving hand is killing him, Felix lets out a soft moan. They’re backed against the edge of his desk, and Felix pushes himself onto it in an effort to relieve the strain on Sylvain’s neck. 

Even a tiny amount of friction on Felix’s cock is welcome relief, but Sylvain just presses down harder and licks the valley between his balls, made wider by the new position. Sylvain's bolder now, nipping the skin of Felix’s sack between his lips, then his teeth. Gentle. Infuriating, especially when Sylvain groans, low and obscene.

“Sylvain,” Felix grinds out. He’s losing patience now. The only adjustment Sylvain makes is to broaden his path, licking from his perineum up to the base of his cock and back, swirling his tongue around Felix’s balls, completely unsympathetic to his plight. “At least eat me out if you’re not going to suck me off.” 

Sylvain pulls off to wink at him. “Nah, I’m having too much fun.” And he goes right back to work, sucking again, one side then the other. 

That’s it. Felix has no choice but to play dirty. There’s something he’s tried on his loneliest nights. He’s never really succeeded at it, so he’s never mentioned it to Sylvain, but being on the edge of pleasure has him feeling extra flexible. 

Like he’s exercising, he pulls his abs tight and cranes his neck until he’s bent as far forward as possible, then frees his cock from the confines of Sylvain’s palm. Fuck, he’s going to be sore tomorrow, but it’s worth it for the look on Sylvain’s face when Felix flicks his tongue out to lick his own dick.

“ _Fuck._ ” Sylvain practically spits his balls out. “Fuck, Felix, I didn’t know you could do that.” 

Felix ignores him and swirls the tip of his tongue over the head of his cock. He can’t get it in his mouth—he’s tried—and it doesn’t feel half as good as Sylvain’s tongue, but goddess, being watched transcends pleasure. Precome tastes bitter on his tongue but he licks his lips because revenge is delicious and goes back for more. A trail of drool glistens at the corner of Sylvain’s mouth. 

Sylvain scrambles on top of him and hovers, like he can’t decide whether to kiss Felix’s mouth or his cock. He does both, one after the other, and for one incredible moment they’re both licking it, but then Sylvain sets upon taking Felix as deep as he possibly can. The relief is instantaneous, both from  _ Sylvain’s _ mouth on his cock, and from leaning back. Felix’s head hits the wall but when he cries out, it’s not in pain. 

With a pop, Sylvain pulls off, but he can’t keep himself away, words mingling with kisses as he asks, “Felix, where—”

“Drawer.” Felix knows Sylvain’s looking for oil, and he finds it, slops it on his hands while sucking, and then he’s pressing his fingers inside Felix, opening him in efficient strokes.

Felix misses him a lot these days so it doesn’t take much. “Want to come on your cock,” he manages to say, and that isn’t going to take much, either, because he’s already on the edge of coming down Sylvain’s throat.

In record time, Sylvain’s wriggling out of his riding pants—he’s wearing nothing underneath—and slathering his cock in oil. Felix misses his mouth but only for a moment, then he’s full, complete again with Sylvain deep inside of him. He slides in like a glove.

They move together like no time has passed at all; it’s not always this easy to rediscover their rhythm, but everything’s right today—fast, dead-on thrusts and slow kisses that miss more often than they land. It’s always fast when they’re face to face, and pleasure coils tight in Felix’s core. Sylvain’s close, too; it’s the intense focus in his brow, the sweat beading there, the way his cock throbs in time with Felix’s pulse. They might actually come together—the only tie Felix will ever welcome. 

Sylvain must be closer, because they both know Felix can come without it, but he reaches between them to grip Felix’s cock, strokes it once, twice, just so—Felix can’t last a third, and Sylvain’s hips falter. Together, Felix gushing onto their stomachs and Sylvain overflowing inside him, they chase the high, hurtle over it, ride it out, stretch it as far as they can.

But Sylvain’s been riding a horse for hours and Felix’s back is already killing him from his impromptu show, and they fall still, steady, chest to chest, hearts connected in the afterglow (even through Sylvain’s shirt).

They’ve made an absolute mess of Felix’s desk (again) and Felix is considering the logistics of moving without making it worse when Sylvain blurts out, “Felix, will you marry me?”

The question stops Felix mid-movement. Mid-thought, really. “What?” 

“Gah!” Sylvain hangs his head over Felix’s shoulder. “Bad timing, I know, but I couldn’t help it.”

Pulling back, Felix lifts Sylvain’s chin so he can study his face. He’s red between his freckles, pupils still blissed out and awe-stricken. “You're not just saying that because”—and he can only say it out loud in front of Sylvain—“I can lick my own dick, right?” 

“No!” The denial doesn’t come with any of his tells, so Sylvain’s being honest. His eyes do roll back in his head a little, and he adds, “But you were _amazing._ ” 

Felix turns away like he isn’t pleased. 

“Honestly, Fe, I’ve got a ring and everything. It’s in my jacket.” Sylvain looks down to where they’re still joined, sheepish. “I guess I just got carried away.” 

“Yes.” 

Sylvain blinks and his brows knit. “Yes, I got carried away, or yes—”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” Felix can’t help but say it with sigh of exasperation. The guilt comes next, so he adds, “I’ve been wanting to ask you, too. I don’t know how it’s going to work, but being away from you…” 

“Inspires some  _ very _ creative masturbation techniques?” Sylvain supplies. “I can’t stop thinking about it, Felix. It was so hot.”

It’s less flattering the longer they stay in this position, and Felix wrinkles his nose. “If we don’t get up, my back’s going to break and you’ll never see it again.” 

That puts Sylvain into action, and he whips off his shirt to mop up the mess. As soon as Felix hops down, he stretches backward until he earns a satisfying  _ crack. _ It’s not enough, but at least he can retrieve his clothes without wincing now. 

Once he’s dressed, he finds Sylvain a foot lower than he expects. He’s on his knees again, but this time he’s got a ring, and Felix forgets how to breathe. 

“I told you I was serious,” says Sylvain. He holds up the ring—another prayer. “Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius, will you marry me?”

The full name and title would be grating if Felix didn’t love him so damn much. “I already said yes,” Felix mutters, even as tears prickle his eyes. 

Sylvain’s crying too when he slides the ring on Felix’s finger, but he still comes back with, “I know! I just wanted to do it right.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Felix snaps, wiping his eyes with the hand that isn’t clasped with Sylvain’s. The hand that isn’t wearing his ring. “There isn’t a wrong way. Even you couldn’t mess it up.” He should have said it another way: Sylvain’s the only one who can get it right. 

But as Sylvain stands and sweeps Felix into his arms, tears trickling down both of their faces, Felix understands. Sylvain can read between the lines. But Felix amends his words anyway, says, “It doesn’t matter how you ask because I just want to marry _you._ ” 

Because he wants to do it right. 

**Author's Note:**

> my work laid me off for the month so it looks like writing smut is my job now! no work, no rules!!! just balls!!!!
> 
> asjdkdkd sorry, i know no one was like clamoring for a fic where sylvain goes ham on felix’s nuts, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. i go where sylvix takes me.
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
